...
"What is free will, and what is purpose? Are we all doomed to live according to the script written by Theós, or do some of us truly have the power to shape our own destiny?" an ancient evil asked his helper.
"I do not know the answers to your questions, master. But what I do know is this—if it is not within Theós' plan, then it cannot be done," the helper replied.
"I feel that I am nearing the end of my script. Theós is done with me... another shall take my place," the ancient evil said, his voice filled with longing.
...
"Grayson, I've already told you—stop playing with that dog! Get over here and help me unload these groceries from the car!" shouted a tall brown woman, struggling to balance four bags between her hands.
This currently irritated woman was none other than my mother. The Saturday evening sun complemented her perfectly smooth, brown skin as she blew the strands of her dark, woven hair away from her face.
You could tell from her tone just how frustrated she was, but her gentle, light brown eyes always gave her away. They radiated warmth, even in moments like this.
'The same eyes that will bear witness to the enlightenment,' I thought.
"Coming, Mom!" I shouted, trying to wrestle free from Nala's overly affectionate licking. With how fluttery she was, you'd never guess the stupid mutt was pregnant.
Nala is a 68 cm-tall greyhound with clear white fur, except for one grey patch circling her left eye. Her eyes, a pure, light shade of amber, radiated joy and excitement every time they landed on you.
'If you weren't pregnant, I would've killed you already,' I thought.
She went missing for just one day and came back knocked up. Must've been desperate, I guess. She's getting older—and it's not like she's going to get any from us.
"Hurry up, please. I need to finish making dinner before your father gets back... I've got these four bags. You get the rest from the car and bring them to the kitchen," my mom said, rushing toward the front door.
"Here are the last ones," I said, placing two bags on the kitchen counter.
Our family has moved around a lot. Normally, we wouldn't stay in one place for too long. We weren't rich, per se, but we're definitely better off than the average middle-class household.
Recently, we moved into a two-story house that was way too big for just the three of us. It wasn't necessary, but I liked the space.
"Mom, why do we even buy groceries when we have fields full of them?" I asked, irritated by this weekly routine.
"Well, your father said we can't eat our own supply. Sometimes I think he just says that to sound like some kind of drug lord," she replied with a smile. "I don't really mind, though. It gives me a reason to go out. Don't worry—we can afford it."
'Foolish man... He keeps giving me more reasons to kill him,' I thought.
My father was a tall, white man with a perfectly toned build for his age. Whenever he's out in the fields, he ties his semi-long, dirty blond hair into a ponytail.
His face looked like it was carefully sculpted, having sharp edges and deep blue eyes that seemed to see through everything. He had always been wary around me, having his guard up like he was expecting me to try something sinister. He never failed to remind me that there was something wrong with me.
'Can't really blame him, though—not with all the surrounding animals that have met a most unfortunate end,' I thought with a chuckle.
He's been especially cautious since we moved all the way out here this summer—deep in the middle of nowhere, where no one could ever hear them scream.
'I just see no reason for him to be so paranoid,' I thought, fully aware he had every reason to be.
The closest town, Sherwood, was two miles out—a ghost town, really. The isolation gave my mother the time and space she needed to think and get creative with her writing.
She's quite the accomplished author. Every one of her books has sold out, ranging from historical novels to deeply philosophical works.
Her most famous piece, Purpose, shattered so many records that even I had to give it a read. I may despise her, but one thing remains undeniably true: the woman was brilliant. She viewed life in such a quirky, expansive way—it's hard not to admire that brain of hers.
'Really makes me want to crack open her skull and see it for myself,' I thought gleefully.
When my father suggested moving out here, she was all for it. It was the perfect environment for her to be alone with her thoughts, away from the city's chaos.
On the bright side, it's also the perfect place for them to die. But my father's constant vigilance—and his ridiculous physical strength—has proven... inconvenient.
His childhood working the fields, combined with his military service, gave him a body like iron (not literal). I know I can't overpower him, so I'll have to take a different approach. Something indirect. Or maybe a surprise attack—perhaps while he's sleeping.
The only shame is that his end will have to be swift. I would love to at least impart a few words of wisdom to him before he goes. I want to see the look on his face as I tell him exactly what he did to me, just before he takes his last breath.
I've been waiting months for everything to fall into place—so I can take them all out in one fell swoop. My parents, the dog… all of them.
Because let's be real: it's the suspense of the hunt that makes the kill worthwhile.
You can't rush circumstances like these. That would be foolish. If time is the only thing I risk losing, then so be it. I can afford to wait if it means every detail is perfect. Everything has to align—otherwise, none of this will be worth it. Knowing that? It doesn't feel all that bad to wait.
'Just like the good old hunting days...' I thought, slipping into the memory of my enlightenment.
'They have to pay,' I reminded myself.
If everything goes as planned, tonight will be the night I take my first human life.
I had been starving Nala for two days now. She's been showing signs—moaning for the past hour. She's close. She should give birth tonight.
She must be weak and hungry. She'll either die during labor or eat one of her young. Whatever survives… I'll finish off myself before the night ends.
"...Grayson! Grayson! Get out of your head and check on Nala! Go with some food, she's been looking thinner lately…
You too, actually. I can practically see your bones. Once you feed her, come straight back and eat. Dinner's almost ready. I don't want my handsome young man growing up all bones and no meat!
I might miss out on having grandkids if all the ladies run away from you!" she laughed, clearly proud of her little mom joke.
"Alright, Mom," I responded, ignoring her joke.
'She's so cheerful. What gives her the right?' I thought disdainfully. This oblivious charade from both of them—this is what's been fueling my anger all these years.
"Can't argue with her, though. I am quite handsome," I said, catching my reflection in the living room mirror.
My mother always said I had the most beautiful turquoise eyes she'd ever seen. I got my dark hair from her—except for the few blond strands here and there. Those I most definitely inherited from my father. I'm only seventeen, but I have to admit—I'm quite the looker.
"Grayson, I understand why you'd want to admire yourself, but please go check on Nala! If she gets any louder, my eardrums might burst!" Mom called, her voice tinged with growing concern.
I grabbed the food and made my way toward the barn. Nala's pathetic moans grew louder with every step. The barn door was already open. I peeked inside, frowning with disgust.
Three puppies lay on the floor, surrounded by a puddle of vile fluids and a smear of blood. One of them was completely still.
"Ha… the little bastard died before I could even get to him," I muttered.
'Looks like more are on the way. This might take a while,' I thought.
I then threw a small piece of meat just to shut her up. I closed the barn door and tossed the rest of the food off to the side.
'You won't need to eat after tonight,' I told her silently.
As I turned back toward the house, I ran into my father. He was coming in from the fields, using the shirt he should've been wearing to wipe the sweat from his face.
"Grayson. What are you doing out here?" he asked, his tone tinged with curiosity.
"I was checking on Nala. She should be giving birth soon," I replied casually.
"Have you been feeding her? She's looking thin. I don't want her ending up like the others. Unlike you, she's actually capable of showing empathy," he said, eyes narrowing.
"Of course I have. I just came from feeding her," I replied, ignoring the jab.
"Didn't you say you only went to check on her?" he asked, his deep blue eyes piercing through me.
"I... I just forgot to mention it earlier," I stammered.
"Is that so…?" he said, unconvinced. Then his expression softened slightly. "Anyway, something smells good in the house. Let's go eat."
He started walking, but not before casting a few curious glances back toward the barn.